


Burnt Broccoli, Ruining the Nice Towels, and Other Culinary Morse-adventures

by Vita_S_West



Category: Endeavour (TV), Inspector Morse & Related Fandoms
Genre: Domesticity, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, kitchen injuries, minor blood reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 16:48:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30125859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vita_S_West/pseuds/Vita_S_West
Summary: Returning home late on a Friday evening, Max found his kitchen to be in extreme disarray—food burning, mounds of dishes in his sink, blood covering half his countertop—and one clear cause for it, swearing morosely over his sink—Morse.
Relationships: Max DeBryn/Endeavour Morse
Comments: 12
Kudos: 21





	Burnt Broccoli, Ruining the Nice Towels, and Other Culinary Morse-adventures

**Author's Note:**

> CW for some MINOR blood references.
> 
> sweaterboys REALLY need unionize already

Returning home late on a Friday evening, Max found his kitchen to be in extreme disarray—food burning, mounds of dishes in his sink, blood covering half his countertop—and one clear cause for it, swearing morosely over his sink—Morse. Max had one moment to absorb the scene before leaping into action, yelling, “What on _earth_ are you bloody doing?”

“Making dinner!” Morse shouted. He swayed a bit, his eyes averted to bloody business he’d created.

Max turned off the stove, moving a pot of pasta that was boiling over, creating an ugly symphony of sizzling, and what looked to be a burning pan of broccoli off their elements. Turning to Morse at the sink, he had to step over towels—his _nice_ , clean, cotton towels—and a pile of food debris. He turned off the tap and yanked Morse's hand away from the sink by the wrist to inspect the damage there.

“What did you do to yourself?” he groaned, his eyes narrowed. “Come on, let’s go to the washroom and get you cleaned up.” 

He led Morse by the wrist, away from the kitchen. With all the smoke and steam, Max thought, it was a miracle the smoke alarm hadn’t gone off. Reaching the stairs, however, he saw the smoke detector sitting on a chair below the frame it had been yanked from, and realized it had gone off, but Morse had merely disabled it. Max paused to give Morse a look of utter disbelief rather than chastisement, before carrying on up the stairs.

“This is your fault!” Morse grumbled, sensing judgment.

“Mine? Oh, I came in, threw half my food and clean towel on the floor and cut halfway through your fingertip, did I?”

“You’re the one who complained about doing all the cooking.” 

“ _Did_ you manage to do any cooking? I couldn’t tell with all the smoke and chaos.”

Max turned on the light as they entered the washroom and felt some relief that the damage seemed to be limited to his kitchen. And his nice towels. He placed Morse on the edge of the tub and pulled down the first aid kit from its shelf.

“I’m assuming you cleaned this with water?”

“Yes.”

“Did you use soap?”

Morse’s brows knit together. “No.” A little green, he didn’t look worse than Max’s kitchen, but he hardly looked well. Max softened a little. 

“Okay then.”

Max got to work. He finished cleaning the wound and carefully dabbing the blood that welled up. He lined up the edges severed skin, while Morse hissed and looked away. His eyes were shut tight. Clearly Morse had used the good knife as well as the good towels. The wound was fine and straight—if a little deep. They could get by without stitches and besides, he didn’t think Morse would willingly go to the hospital to receive them. Finally, Max could get to the bandaging. He’d have to check it a few more times over the next few days to make sure that it was healing right.

“Why are your knives so sharp,” Morse said suddenly, his teeth clipping together.

“Because they’re meant to cut things. Admittedly, usually food, but it’s not like they're capable of discriminating."

"Mm."

"That’s supposed to be up to its wielder. You know, the one with free will. Now, all done.” He pulled Morse’s hand up to his lips, pressing a very light kiss to the knuckle of his bandaged finger. “I suppose I’ll have to do the cleaning after all your warfare.”

“I can help,” Morse mumbled. He finally seemed a little embarrassed.

“What were you even trying to make?” 

“Garlic oil sauteed pasta with broccoli.”

“How far did you get?”

“Well, the pasta is cooked. The broccoli might be a little brown.”

“Morse, it was charcoal when I looked.”

“No! It was just… dark brown.”

Max heaved a sigh, shaking his head at Morse whose colour was steadily returning. He kept Morse's hand in his even if part of him was tempted by removing the rest of the finger. But no matter the destruction they caused, they still fit warmly in Max’s grasp. Morse gave his hand a squeeze. He offered Max a sheepish smile when he looked up. With his other hand, Morse reached over and softly touched the curl that seemed to perpetually fall on Max’s forehead. These fingers traced down Max’s face, to pause at his chin.

The kiss was soft, almost self-conscious. It was really more of an apology than a kiss, something that never seemed to come easily to Morse. His hand came to rest on Max’s collar and the kiss deepened after a moment. It wasn’t heated or desperate. It was more like he was merely happy to see him. Happy he was home. They'd hardly had time for "hello" or "how was your day" with the kitchen's disorder.

Max smiled almost in spite of himself and Morse chuckled, almost bashful. It was as close to a “thank you” as Max was ever going to get and some ways it was better because Morse really meant it.

“I suppose I’ll do the washing up,” Max said after a moment, “while you can do the putting away and try to keep the rest of your blood in your body.”

“Oh, very funny.”

“It would be if it weren’t something I _needed_ to request.” Max stood. There was now a mess in his bathroom, but he supposed that was because he had brought Morse there. He put the antiseptic wipes and other garbage in the trash bin under the sink, before washing his hands thoroughly.

“I won’t do it again,” Morse said, suddenly sounding almost apologetic.

“I’m glad.” Max watched him through the mirror, over his own shoulder. “I didn’t think you were planning to but it’s good to hear confirmation. Should we order something in?”

Morse heaved a massive sigh of relief. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Max turned off the tap and began to dry his hands. “You're paying, mind you. Reparations for what you did to my kitchen.”

“Oh, it wasn’t…” One look at Max’s pointedly raised eyebrow and firmly set lips silenced Morse. “I’ll fetch my wallet.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading ! 1 kudos is 1 application for damages for undo harm to Max's kitchen


End file.
